


The Roots in Prophecy

by SingleHearts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship/Love, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Character(s), Past, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingleHearts/pseuds/SingleHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's never actually seen death; he's never even brushed shoulders with it—stranger to stranger. But Claudia …no one has lived more death than Claudia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Roots in Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> There will be several OC(s) in this crazy fic. Gen is one (if not the) main OC so I hope you warm up to him, because you will be reading a good portion of this from his POV. The Desert Wolf will make an appearance as promised in the tags, but she will not be presented as such. So keep an eye out for her. I just wanted to dig a little into the past, my crazy version of what happened before the Teen Wolf craziness. Hope you enjoy =) Please Review if you liked (or didn't).

> _You have a lifetime to think of your existence in terms of "what if?" Sit around some corner, or on the sidewalk of some dull neighborhood gazing at some non-existent point, just wondering._
> 
> _I wish life would have granted me such serenity. The privilege to dream about the impossible, to believe wholeheartedly in things that only books speak of, and only hope that somewhere, out there, in some magical kingdom it all does exist._
> 
> _But life works in funny ways, and while there are kids fantasizing of superheroes, werewolves, and witches I am here thinking about "what if none of all that really existed?"_
> 
> _Well, if it didn't I wouldn't be here prepared to tell you all about it._

"So? Isn't it awesome or what?" She is bouncing on her bed, gleaming childish expectant eyes at him, waiting for some saccharine compliment to burst from his mouth. He, on the other hand, seems sort of dumbfounded by it all.

"Werewolves? Witches?" He frowns; it's not really his cup of tea. He has a thing about not really believing in fairytales, now comic books that's a whole other cosmic.

"Yeah, I think it's quite appropriate," she gestures towards the window, "seeing where we live in."

He scoffs, because he never really thinks about the forest preserve, even though it technically is the pride and jewel of their town.

"Appropriate? Don't you think it's more antiquated, cliché maybe?" He is stretching his arm reaching for her journal when a hard surface hits the back of his head.

"Ow! Wha-"

"It's classics. These stories are classics." She is holding a massive Oxford dictionary in her hands, the one he gave her when she decided she wanted to become an author, raising it above her head like a huge stone ready to be dropped.

"You're right." He nods, holding his hands out in surrender. "Lycanthropy  _is_  a classic…"he waits,"... psychiatric disorder," then winces.

He had a moment, in between, to pull back but he didn't, to which he immediately regrets 10 seconds after when the weight of over 200,000 defined words hits him again.

Claudia has a history, a lineage of relatives with psychiatric disorders extending back to her great-great-great grandmother, as far as he knows. And, according to such an extensive history, the mental illness doesn't like to skip generations, meaning Claudia's mother got the best of it as well.

"Sorry," he whispers quite apologetically, but it's too late.

Claudia has already pulled back, hugging her knees to her chest, and blocking him out. Every time, every single time the subject is brought up, or slipped into the conversation by his slithering tongue Claudia drifts off.

He gets up from the little stool he'd been sitting on, and looks her way one last time before exiting her room. Claudia doesn't pay him any attention, her mind and eyes are towards the woods.

When he walks out into the late afternoon an autumn breeze impales him from the front rattling his bones from head to toe.

He hates the cold.

He shakes off that death-like feeling and turns back to look at Claudia's window. She is still there, wrapped up like a ball, staring solemnly into some invisible point—lost.

The cold winds pierce him again, and he curses. If a ghost were to ever go through him, he guesses that this is what it would feel like. The thought of phantoms and the unknown makes him shiver again.

He's never actually seen death; he's never even brushed shoulders with it—stranger to stranger.

But Claudia,

…no one has lived more death than Claudia.

* * *

 

It is at dawn when he is awoken from an earthquake like shake.

" _Get up._ "

A hand abruptly rocks him making him groan in annoyance. Whoever is rattling him like a ragdoll can go screw themselves; he isn't getting up.

"Damn it Gen, get up," the voice grits again, this time using its hands to shove him towards the edge of the bed. He mumbles something incoherent and lets his weight sink onto the mattress, anchoring himself to it—he isn't falling over.

"Damn it Gen."

His back arches when the two bony hands persistently push at his lumbar region. The stretch feels good, cracking a bone or two in the process. He lets his back arch again releasing a satisfied moan.

"You  _indolent_  log of a human," the voice sounds exasperated, releasing him from its clutches, but he doesn't care. Instead, he curls up like a fetus in a womb and gets ready to hibernate for another 5 hours or so.

"I  _said:_ Get. Up."

The shock of being stripped off comes right after having the covers ripped off of him like a bandage.

"Claudia. What the hell?" He hisses blindly reaching for the covers that are huddled by his feet.

If it wasn't so damn early he would seriously consider getting up just to give Claudia a wet-willy, because he knows how much she _loves_  those.

He pulls the comforters back over him once he finds them, and works his way into a blanket like cocoon.

"Un-bee-leave-ah-bull," he hears Claudia say, and Gen can picture her perfectly: clenched jaw, fists on hips, with a look that kills. The perfect Claudia alpha stance.

"Go away," he grumbles once he is settled under the masses of cotton and feathers.

If there is something Gen hates more than the cold is being deprived of sleep.

"Jerk! You promised." She bites out before slapping him hard on the side of his head. He yelps and curses under his breath when his head begins to throb. Claudia is seriously going to crack his skull wide open one of these days.

"Lying mongrel," she huffs and he groans throwing a tantrum under the bedspread, because he did in fact promise. Gen promised her a one all American Mischief Night. And to his fucking dismay he never ever breaks a promise, not mattering how stupid and childish the promise turns out to be.

"Fine." He mutters, kicking off the covers like a toddler on a rampage. Next time he makes a promise, he'll make sure to remember it doesn't involve waking up at 5 in the morning.

Claudia swings her hands to the front clapping and snapping her fingers once. She is gloating with excitement at the favorable outcomes, because –so far so good—she is getting her way.

Gen steels a peek at her out of annoyance. Her smugness this early in the morning rests like a bitter coffee on his tongue; he hates coffee.

"I'm not throwing eggs," he says, grumpily getting up to look for his sweatpants. He's going to wear them over his flannel PJs. Screw it, the cold isn't getting anywhere near his delicates.

"Okay." Claudia is rocking back and forth on her heels and toes looking like that innocent child that can play devious mind games behind your back. Gen glares at her through squinty groggy eyes. She isn't fooling him; the cutesy innocent charade doesn't play him. He can perfectly see past the childlike disguise. This girl is no angel; she is more like the devil's nightmare of a niece.

"And I'm not holding toilet paper either," he points a menacing finger at her. He better take his stance now, because this woman can smell fear and weakness like he can smell fried chicken from a mile away. It's a gift.

"You won't have to," she replies with a smirk.

Gen has to stop digging his head through his hoody to take a peek at her. He pokes one eye out of the Wisconsin hoodie looking like a shy turtle coming out of its shell to nervously ask "Why not?"

He may still be a little groggy from the early wake up call, but he is positive he heard an innuendo in her tone. It most definitely sounded like mischief, or trouble or possibly trouble that will lead to physical pain,  _his_  physical pain.

She grins wide and he swallows hard. Yeah, there most definitely will be all kinds of trouble.

***

"What would our ancestors say? What would our forefathers think? What would-"

"And our foremothers," she interrupts.

"What are they saying right now? They're probably discussing ways to burn us out of existence, right out of the family tree."

He trips over a root but she is quick to grab him by the arm.

"They have to, before we disgrace the family, the lineage, the-"

"I think the disgrace part has already been done a long time ago," she interrupts once again. "Seriously Gen, that sweater itself is enough to earn you a lightning strike on your brainless head."

"Hey, it's called a hoodie. Not a sweater. There's a difference."

They have been walking for minutes on end. Gen's ankles were starting to swell from all the tripping and wobbling they did over the surface roots and bumps of the forest. He's never been a hiking guy, or a walking guy for that matter. His legs are better suited for resting on tables, mattresses and armrests not for escalating forest floors.

"Hoodie or sweater," she states "it's still a piece of rag."

"Hey, this here is a family heirloom. It's been with the family for-"

"Your uncle Bernt gave it to you, and he bought it at a yard sale."

"Exactly." He outstretches his arms as if ready to give the chilly air a huge bear hug. "This Wisconsin hoodie is a treasure, it's moved up from the Watkin's family to the German's. It has enough history to be considered an artifact." Gen looks down as his maroon hoodie and rubs at his chest quite pleased with his possession. That heirloom of his has about six different holes, not counting the ones that are meant to be there. Claudia turns to look at Gen and rolls her eyes. He is simply ridiculous.

"Stop talking and hurry up," she yells back at him as she disappears between the trees. Gen has no clue where they are heading. When it comes to the woods or the forest or whatever place that doesn't involve a road, Cluadia takes main lead. And when Claudia becomes chauffeur there is no guessing where one would end up. Claudia just loves to rattle his bones in nerves and suspense before  ** _BAM_**  hitting him with the most outrageous surprise that leaves him tumbling down like an old skeleton. He still doesn't know why he follows her around.

"Hey, where the hell are we going anyway? If I remember correctly town is that way." He points over his shoulder with his thumb, but Claudia doesn't pay him any attention. "I thought we were gonna vandalize the town," he continues "…or something along those lines." He is crisscross walking, balancing himself terribly with outstretched arms. "I didn't get up from bed at 5 in the morning just to—Oh Jesus Christ!" He slips on a moss covered rock tumbling sideways towards the bark of a tree. "Claudia,  _why the hell-_ "

"We're here." Claudia abruptly halts a few feet ahead.

Gen straightens himself up awkwardly and scowls towards Claudia for not giving a flying fuck about his almost death accident. "What do you mean we're-" all of a sudden he's rendered speechless. He hadn't seen it; he hadn't noticed it through all his squabbling. And now that he is seeing it he can't believe it. It is huge!

"How did you-?"

"I just…ran into it." Claudia is grinning wide, looking like the mad Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. And boy does it feel like he is standing right in the center of Wonderland.

"It's-"

"It's an oak tree," she finishes for him. He's lived next to a forest all his life, but never has he seen something like what is rooted before him. It almost looks like something from the Grimm Brothers' fairy tales.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Claudia asks behind him as he takes cautious steps forward.

It is, and it isn't beautiful. It is mythically beautiful, but it is also nightmarish. Even the trees around it appear to fear it, leaving enough space between them and it. Mother Nature only knows what will happen if the other trees' branches or leaves accidentally brush against the great oak. Gen suddenly feels a little too conscious of his feet and where they're stepping. The oak's roots had managed to claw their way up to the surface ground over the years looking like veins on rich soil. If he didn't know any better he'd think this tree was actually alive, with a beating heart. One misstep and he will be blocking centuries of blood flow. 

It just looks and feels so unearthly, even though it _is_ a tree.

Gen is circling the eighth wonder of the world, barely managing to cover a few feet of its monumental circumference with his human footsteps. The trunk could probably fit a house, extending more than 40 feet in diameter. He feels like a puny hobbit standing in the presence of a giant.

He hears the wind rustling through leaves behind him, and he looks up 10 feet above him half expecting the big oak to awake from a long slumber. But the tree does not rise, nor does it move. Instead, it moans and he jumps back startled. "When I first heard it I almost ran." Claudia speaks from right behind him and he jumps again startled. "Fuck Claudia," he shakily breathes out. "I wouldn't curse if I were you," she grimaces, "this tree seems ancient. It could get offended." Gen rolls his eyes, and places an open palm over his chest. His heart is doing jumping jacks. He should have just agreed to throw eggs and toilet papers at houses.

_What kind of tree moans?_ He asks himself quite annoyed. _Giant trees apparently._

Dawn is breaking entrance to the sun, softly illuminating the trees and ground. Gen can't help but look up again. Sunlight showers through the leaves of the oak spreading like a smile on the faceless ethereal plant. Gen shakes his head. This already feels too much for one day. If he weren't nearly freezing he would believe himself to be dreaming.

"We should go," Gen finally looks down, away from the giant oak. "School'll start soon," he says. Claudia frowns, but nods. School is going to feel like such an insupportable bore after this.

They walk almost silently on their way back home, which is surprising for both Claudia and Gen. The image of the great oak tree keeps replaying in their minds. Gen is already imagining how it would trace on his sketchbook, picturing and establishing the shading and angles. He will probably be drawing about five different interpretations of it by the end of today.

"Gramps used to tell stories about an old oak tree," Claudia quietly breaks the silence. "Actually, he talked about two." Gen raises his eyebrow, "Two oak trees?" She nods remaining silent for a few seconds before continuing. "He said they were twins, planted and rooted on the same day. The first of their kind," Claudia kicks a broken twig and Gen scoffs. "That was 5,000 years ago," she continues looking towards Gen. Gen nods, kind of enjoying the Grimm like fairytale. "So what happened to these legendary trees?" he asks amusement dancing in his voice. Claudia shrugs looking back down at the floor.

Gen suddenly tenses, Claudia's body language is making his alert senses tingle. He feels Claudia is going to curl in on herself any second. He's known Claudia long enough to know when she is losing trace of the real world. He is about ready to change the topic of their conversation when she speaks again. "All I remember is that they had a name, their kind." Gen waits, looking at her with confusion in his brows. He really just wants to get out of forest grounds and onto nice solid pavement.

"They called them the Nemeton Trees."

 


End file.
